


Weather

by auber_jean



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auber_jean/pseuds/auber_jean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> “That’s fine with me,” Kuroo says as his hand slips from Oikawa’s side, sinking lower, gliding across his thigh until it rests on the button of Oikawa’s pants, warm and looming, and Oikawa just wants to push closer. </em>
</p><p>  <em>But Kuroo’s hand stops him, his tongue against his ear, voice muttering in a low whisper, “Just don’t regret it.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Weather

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with the intention of making a sexy Kuroo, and then this happened. 
> 
> I started shipping Oikuro as a joke, now look at me -_-

It’s not the first time that they’ve done this. Hips meeting, every minute passed with grinding, mouths breathing the pitfalls of their own limited time.

And it wasn’t Oikawa’s plan to end up here at Kuroo’s apartment. With Kuroo’s hand skimming the top of his ass, crotch pressed so close, his breaths short and hot against Oikawa’s neck.

Not that he hasn’t thought of it.

They had both graduated. Their time as third years ended, and they had futures to be chasing.

But this. 

This was a space frozen in time for teenage fantasy, hormones, and ill-made decisions. Decisions that were misconstrued and impulsive. Impulsively charged, liable to explode, and surely something that he will probably regret. But Oikawa doesn’t care because he doesn’t put much stock in his emotional intelligence anyway. He doesn’t know what Kuroo is thinking at all.

And he’s not really sure he wants to.

Oikawa tugs on the edge of Kuroo’s collar, pulling until they stumble forward in stuttered steps, hands and fingers fumbling as they make it through the front door of the apartment. An exhale has Kuroo’s heavy breaths ghosting his neck. 

Oikawa groans, a shiver running down his spine, brazen and relentless. “You don’t have to—” he says, lips grazing the skin of Kuroo’s neck, breathing with the constant beat of his erratic pulse.

“Fuck. I don’t have to what?” Kuroo grunts, hands at Oikawa’s hips, fingers searching under and over. His fingertips leaving trails of warmth that make Oikawa feel like he is burning all over.

“You don’t have to play such a gracious host,” Oikawa manages, his voice pulled lower with every stroke of Kuroo’s hand against his thigh.

Kuroo pauses, eyes staring at his own without question, “And what if I want to?”

And really, Oikawa won’t argue with that.

It’s a push and pull. Moving too fast and too slow, and it isn't something that they will think too hard about it. About how their bodies fit together, or how the world moves to a crushingly slow pace, because in the end it’s all impulse and wishful thinking.

Kuroo slams Oikawa against the wall, height towering and pushing forward but his eyes warm and his hands slotted so solidly by Oikawa’s sides. He finds that he doesn’t mind it at all, and pushes his hips forward, indulging himself against the concave of Kuroo’s hips, grinding forward.

“Shit, yeah okay.” Kuroo grins, pressing forward and nuzzling at Oikawa’s neck.

“On one condition,” Oikawa breathes, sucking in a breath when Kuroo licks a stripe against his skin that chills cold against the air.

Kuroo stills, his small breaths a weighted presence by Oikawa’s cheek.

“No kissing,” Oikawa says. There is a pause, and Oikawa expects Kuroo to protest but the taller boy just meets his eyes, dark and heavy, and Oikawa can’t help feeling as though he’s made a mistake. But then Kuroo’s arms gather at his waist, pulling him forward, close enough to breathe him in.

Kuroo’s lips burn on his neck, heated breaths moving towards the curve of his ear, and Oikawa wills himself not to shudder. “That’s fine with me,” Kuroo says as his hand slips from Oikawa’s side, sinking lower, gliding across his thigh until it rests on the button of Oikawa’s pants, warm and looming, and Oikawa just wants to push closer. 

But Kuroo’s hand stops him, his tongue against his ear, voice muttering in a low whisper, “Just don’t regret it.”

Kuroo’s hands slide up under Oikawa’s shirt, his warm palms tracing over every muscle, fingertips grazing and imprinting fire onto his skin. Kuroo slips his leg between Oikawa’s thighs, dragging his nails across his back when he grinds against forward, the friction chasing heat against his skin.

Oikawa gasps, a stuttered breath of air, as Kuroo presses him against the wall, nimble hands moving artfully to unbutton his jeans. 

Kuroo’s hands are rough and calloused - not that Oikawa expects anything different in the game that they play. But his movements are deliberate, counted in every measure, taking care as he pops the button open, hands weighted and pressing confidently at the opening, playing tease with the metal zipper. Oikawa’s hard-on strains against his jeans as Kuroo sucks on Oikawa’s neck, his tongue slowed, pushing and prodding.

“Fuck. Kuroo— Just—”

Oikawa reaches out, his hands moving from his sides to grip the loop of Kuroo’s jeans and bring them closer. Kuroo’s breath hitches, and Oikawa loves the sound. His hands move, skimming the top of Kuroo’s jeans, fingers stroking the bare skin in a mantra.

Oikawa pushes up Kuroo’s shirt, nudging until Kuroo pulls it off of his body, throwing it blindly onto the ground. Oikawa drags his eyes to look at Kuroo’s body, letting out an appreciative hum.

Kuroo smirks, “Glad to know I’m not an eyesore.”

Oikawa scoffs and rolls his eyes, “You’re such a fuck—“ but then Kuroo grinds his hips forward, hoisting Oikawa higher up on his thigh, bringing them closer together, the friction searing. The heat strains against his skin, and all Oikawa wants to do is keep going.

“Yeah, and?” He can still hear the smile on Kuroo’s lips.

Kuroo’s hand pulls at the zipper of Oikawa’s jeans, inching it down slowly until it’s open completely. The cold air is a shock to Oikawa’s cock, straining in his underwear. Kuroo’s hand reaches forward, but Oikawa stops him, instead reaching to undo Kuroo’s belt, tugging at the leather.

Oikawa leans forward, dragging his lips by Kuroo’s ear, “Don’t think that you’re the only one who gets to play,” he says, before yanking the front of Kuroo’s jeans open, and slowly sliding his hands into Kuroo’s underwear. Kuroo lets out a low grunt, eyes expectant and Oikawa is more than willing to give.

He reaches, hand enclosing around Kuroo’s thick length, hot and heavy, drawing it out of his underwear. Kuroo groans as he pulls slowly at the base, fingers pliant. Oikawa lets his other hand roam across Kuroo’s body. Fingertips travelling endlessly, tracing and mapping over the expanse of skin. Kuroo keens at his touch, hips bucking as Oikawa pulls at his shaft. He leans forward, pressing his mouth to Kuroo’s neck, sucking at the skin, raw and sensitive. He keeps the pace, his fingers dragging across the underside, timing his ministrations with the drag of his teeth on Kuroo’s neck.

“Fuck—“ Kuroo’s head tilts back at Oikawa’s mouth burning marks onto his skin. His hands are still tangled underneath Oikawa’s T-shirt, pulling them closer together. Oikawa’s erection presses against Kuroo’s. He moans at the pressure, hand tightening around Kuroo’s dick. Oikawa moves his lips, sucking and marking, drifting down to Kuroo’s chest causing the other boy to hiss.

Kuroo drags his lips back to Oikawa’s ear, breath heavy, “How about we finish this up then?” He pulls back and just stares at Oikawa, eyes glowing strangely bright in the dark of the hallway.

Oikawa pauses in his movements, catching his breath and suppressing the moans wanting to erupt from his throat as Kuroo hands move to hold his hips in place. Oikawa rolls his eyes, hands still skimming the top of Kuroo’s jeans, “I was just about to—”

“Gracious host, remember?” Kuroo whispers, voice low and reverberating against Oikawa’s chest. Kuroo’s hands slide from Oikawa’s hips, trailing down to Oikawa’s ass, yanking down his jeans and underwear in a swift motion. Oikawa hisses at the cold but then groans as Kuroo pulls them closer together, cocks touching.

Kuroo meets him face on, lips hovering close to his own. Oikawa can feel the bated breaths on his skin, and it takes all of his might not to go back on his decision and press his lips against Kuroo’s. But in the moment of his weakness, Kuroo suddenly pulls back, brushing lips across the edge of Oikawa’s jaw, “Your rules,” he says, voice thick, but not giving anything away.

But Oikawa just wants to move.

He groans when Kuroo’s hand brushes firmly against his cock, fingers teasing the underside with practised ease. Fingers pulling and tugging artfully enough that Oikawa whines, his voice grating and cock weighing heavily in Kuroo’s nimble hands. He presses forward, thrusting into the palm of Kuroo’s hand, a pace too fast, because he just wants to live this moment and get it over with. But Kuroo smiles, something chiding and far too kind, his movements slowing as if he’s trying to bring Oikawa back down. 

Then Kuroo takes his own dick and slides it against Oikawa’s, palming them together and Oikawa groans at the change. The feeling of Kuroo’s hard dick against his sends shocks to his spine.

Oikawa growls, thrusting his hips forward, each movement burning at his insides as his cock grinds against Kuroo’s.

Kuroo’s hand slides down to his ass, anchoring him there and forcing them together as the pace of their thrusts gains momentum.

Oikawa’s head hits the wall behind him, and Kuroo takes the opportunity to suck at his neck. A moan bursts from him, low and dirty, and sensitivity ripples through his body Kuroo ruts against him, dick dragging against his with every thrust.

Oikawa rakes his fingers down Kuroo’s back, nails scratching as his hips meet Kuroo’s halfway. Pre-come leaks from the tip of his cock as Kuroo’s slots them together, their bodies touching at every pane. Oikawa’s skin feels as though its been set alight, every rhythmic thrust shuddering through him, and Kuroo’s groans assailing his ears, pushing through him again and again.

Heat pools at the concave of Oikawa’s hips, the feeling of being close to coming ringing throughout his body. “Kuroo, I’m—” he says through stuttered breaths. The other boy meets his eyes, glimmering in the haze of his own heavy breaths, “Yeah—”

Kuroo’s hand reaches down between them, grasping both of their dicks in his grip, stroking them together. Oikawa’s jaw drops at the touch, a strangled moan escaping his lips, “Kuroo, fuck—”

Kuroo’s hand keeps pumping, callused hands pulling and stroking. Oikawa feels his hips buck forward at every touch, pressing for more. He licks at the expanse of skin of Kuroo’s neck, salted and burning hot, feeling the hum of Kuroo’s throat under his tongue.

“Shit— You’re so—” Kuroo stutters out. The pace of his hand, still aching between them.

“Kuroo, come on— just—” Oikawa growls, grinding endlessly onto Kuroo’s dick.

Kuroo grunts, dragging his thumb over the slit of Oikawa’s cock, pressing against it firmly with every stroke, the boy moaning with every movement. Oikawa puts his hand over Kuroo’s, pulling the rhythm into a faster pace. Taking a firmer grasp, Kuroo groans as he feels Oikawa’s hand on his cock. The pre-come is slick against the palm of their hands, the heat of their lengths sliding together and pushing them both to the edge.

Oikawa gives a final thrust before coming, his semen spilling wet and hot over their hands. He bites the junction of Kuroo’s neck hard, muffling his moans, shuddering against the other boy’s body. Kuroo comes shortly after, the jolt of his hips pressing onto Oikawa, his hot breaths grazing Oikawa’s cheek.

Minutes pass, the sound of their heavy breathing echoing off the walls and setting a contrast to the stream of beeping traffic outside. It feels like forever before Oikawa can bring himself back down to normal.

Oikawa breathes deep, watching as Kuroo moves both their hands to wipe the excess on his jeans, his movements timed and far too gentle. Kuroo’s eyes meet his, closeted and dark, a smirk playing at his lips as he buttons his jeans, prompting Oikawa to do the same.

Kuroo disentangles himself nimbly, the warmth of his hands grazing by Oikawa’s sides one last time. Oikawa cringes at the loss of warmth. He watches as Kuroo walks towards his kitchen, not bothering to put his shirt back on, “Do you want coffee?” he voices over his shoulder.

It’s an open invitation. Stay or go.

Oikawa should leave. Because the moment is over. The space in time has come full circle, complete and shuttered back into reality where the both of them are familiar strangers. He glances at the door, his hands making fists by his sides at his indecision.

But then Oikawa’s feet move, his socked feet crossing the wooden living room floor towards the kitchen where Kuroo stands, back facing Oikawa as he focuses on the steam rising from the kettle. Oikawa pulls at the loops of Kuroo’s jeans, tugging him away from the counter. A look of blinded surprise flits over the taller boy’s face, “What—”

And Oikawa kisses him.

Kisses him like burning. Because he doesn't know what this all means, and he’s not dying to find out. 

But it would kill him to leave it alone.

Kuroo kisses back, lips warm, hands fisting at Oikawa’s shirt, pulling him closer. And Oikawa can’t stand to regret it at all.

“You said—” Kuroo says, after pulling back, eyes questioning but never judging.

“I know what I said,” Oikawa mutters, staring at the floor.

But then Kuroo just smiles, hands pulling at his, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Oikawa’s cheek.

“Okay then. Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. This is literally my first time writing anything remotely sexy-time like D:
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.


End file.
